


Drastically Redefining Protocol spin-off snippets

by trobairitz22



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Paparazzi, Vomiting, consensual slut-shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trobairitz22/pseuds/trobairitz22
Summary: Spin-offs of rageprufrock's brilliant Drastically Redefining Protocol.





	1. Maddalena's

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Drastically Redefining Protocol](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189) by [rageprufrock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock). 



> Thanks to moogle62 for the beta!
> 
> Thanks of course to rageprufrock for creating this beautiful universe for me to play in, many years later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin makes a bad decision involving ladies' underwear and the postal service. Arthur doesn't mind.

_Arthur had already moved onto the collage of stupid photographs, the dozens of pictures of him and Gwen and their friends from school at seaside trips and ill-conceived minibreaks to the more disreputable bar areas of Prague and Paris. If there was any luck, Arthur wouldn't spot the one where Merlin was clearly wearing fishnet tights, so of course, at that precise second, Arthur tapped it with his finger and gave Merlin a curious look._

__

__

_"I was extremely drunk," Merlin swore._

_"He put them on before he got drunk," Gwen supplied._

-

In fairness, it is absolutely Merlin’s fault.

Eighteen months into the nonsense that is his relationship with Arthur, Merlin makes an executive decision that it’s ridiculous how he’s still keeping his stuff in his crappy bedsit, given that he spends the vast majority of his free time at the Nut Factory. He somehow manages to find a day in which he doesn’t have a hospital shift and Arthur doesn’t have any royal duties, and they sort his possessions into Chuck, Charity Shop and Move To The Nut Factory boxes. And have a final shag on the squeaky bed, for old times’ sake. It really is insane, Merlin reflects, post-shag, how the Prince of Wales is in this tiny shabby flat, bitching at him for procuring the wrong size of cardboard packing boxes, and that doesn’t even feel weird.

The last thing to pack is the slightly ragged collage of photographs pinned to a corkboard on the wall, and it gives Merlin an unexpected rush of nostalgia. 

“The second time we met…” he says, grinning, standing in front of the corkboard. There have been a few new photos added since then, mostly featuring Arthur – Arthur blowing out candles on a slightly lopsided birthday cake made by Merlin and Gwen; Arthur sitting on the floor next to his favourite dog’s newborn puppies and looking suspiciously shiny-eyed; Arthur and Merlin, snapped by Hunith, asleep on each other on an old sofa in Windmill Hill; and one particular photo that was printed on front pages all around the world (being the most Not-Not Safe For Work of the half-dozen), showing Merlin’s head and shoulders as he slept, and Arthur’s bare feet and calves as he sat cross-legged on the bed to take the picture.

“I remember that,” Arthur says softly, sidling up behind Merlin and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. He reaches around Merlin and pushes one of the newer pictures aside.

He’s revealed a photo of Merlin on night out in Soho - what, three years ago? Merlin was off-his-face trashed, after the bar and then the drag show and then the other bar, pouting and posing in the street like a Charlie’s Angel, wearing very short black shorts, fishnet tights and Doc Martens.

“I remember being…particularly interested in this one,” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s neck, voice low.

“Oh really,” says Merlin, grinding back ever so slightly into Arthur’s hips. “How ironic, because I remember particularly hoping you wouldn’t see that one.”

And that was true, at the time, because it really is a very inappropriate and embarrassing photo to have on display in your home, particularly if the heir to the throne happens to be visiting your home. And yet – despite the fact that he is frequently awkward and badly-dressed and clumsy – occasionally the stars align and Merlin photographs really well. And this was one of those occasions. Through some happy coincidence of the street lighting and the angle of the camera and the outrageous pose, Merlin looks, he thinks smugly to himself, really fucking hot. His skin is glowing ethereally in the dark night, his cheekbones and jaw look sharp enough to peel an apple, and his legs in the fishnets seem about a mile long.

Arthur runs a fingertip down Photograph Merlin’s leg, and Now Merlin shivers against Arthur’s chest as if he had been touched like that in real life. Arthur huffs a smug laugh at his reaction and tightens his grip on Merlin’s hip. 

“You know, you really do look fantastic in stockings,” he says softly, pulling Merlin tighter against him so Merlin can feel Arthur’s crotch against his backside.

“Is that a hint, sire?” Merlin asks, and Arthur licks his neck.

-

It was absolutely Merlin’s fault, but Merlin thought he was organising everything so cleverly.

He gets the parcel delivered to the post room at the hospital, because he’s hardly ever at his own flat and he doesn’t want Arthur to see it if it gets delivered to the Nut Factory. What he didn’t realise, however, is that if you buy eye-wateringly expensive stockings from a Knightsbridge boutique, and black satin knickers too because if you’re going to do something you might as well do it properly, then they aren’t delivered in a normal cardboard box – they’re delivered in a beautiful peach-coloured gift box with a ribbon around it and the name of the boutique – Maddalena’s - embossed in large gold letters on the top.

Another thing Merlin didn’t realise was that it was a slow news day on the afternoon he took the gift box back from the hospital and, in the absence of any other celebrities doing interesting things, a handful of paparazzi were hanging around the staff entrance to the hospital in the hope of snapping photos of Prince Arthur’s boyfriend looking tired at the end of a shift, so they could sell them to tabloids who liked to run articles about Prince’s Paramour Left Stressed And Exhausted By Royal Life.

Merlin is halfway to the car, box tucked under his arm, before he registers the clicks of the cameras. He whirls round and sees the paps at the other end of the carpark, long lenses trained on him.

“Oh fuck,” he says under his breath, desperately trying to cover the name of the boutique with his jacket and almost running toward the car. He throws himself into the backseat and asks the driver to take him to Arthur’s flat. (As uncomfortable as Merlin feels about a lot of Arthur’s lifestyle, having a driver is awesome – not least because, if he’d had to walk to the tube, God only knows how many shots the paps would have got of the giftbox.)

-

“Hiya,” Merlin calls as he enters the Nut Factory.

He hears Arthur’s footsteps coming to the entrance hall. “Just going to the loo,” Merlin adds and scampers down the hall to the bathroom, still clutching the box. Once inside, he evaluates himself in the mirror – there are shadows under his eyes after a twelve hour shift that turned into a thirteen hour shift, but there’s not much he can do about that. He brushes his teeth and tries to fluff his hair a bit.

Opening the box is as exciting as opening a Christmas present as a little child. He peels back a layer of rose-scented pink tissue paper, and there they are – smooth, fine silk and satin, perfectly folded. Stripping off his slightly shabby jeans-and-trainers work ensemble and knowing he’s going to put on these feels almost ludicrous.

The satin knickers slide up his thighs with unbelievable smoothness. His dick makes a not-unflattering bulge in the tight fabric. Abruptly he realises he probably should have manscaped a bit, considering how little flesh these actually cover compared to his usual underwear, but too late now. He works one stocking up his leg, then the other.

“You alright in there?” comes Arthur’s voice from the hall, vaguely concerned. 

“One second,” Merlin calls back. He casts a last glance in the mirror. The seams at the back of the stockings are straight. The air is chilly on his bare chest.

He opens the door and steps out. “I’m perfectly fine, darling, and you?” he says, meeting Arthur’s eye.

Arthur’s jaw actually drops, which is very gratifying.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. Arthur isn’t often ineloquent, and Merlin preens.

“What do you think?” he asks, batting his eyelashes as he saunters up to Arthur. Arthur can’t take his eyes off Merlin’s thighs, where the black lace of the hold-ups encircles his pale skin.

“I think, er – very good indeed,” he stutters. 

“Good,” smiles Merlin, looping his arms around Arthur’s neck. “I rather like it too.”

Arthur’s hands are at his waist, then slide down the satin covering his hips. He runs his hands along the edge of the fabric, then dips a fingertip under the waistband.

“Christ,” Arthur murmurs against Merlin’s lips. “You – Jesus Christ.”

“Bed?” Merlin suggests. 

“Absolutely,” says Arthur fervently. And, to Merlin’s delight, Arthur picks him up, throws him over his shoulder like a damsel in some historical smut, and marches into their bedroom. Merlin will never make fun of him for spending so much time doing weights ever again.

Arthur drops him on the bed and stands over him for a moment, just looking at him. He’s a little short of breath and Merlin flatters himself that it’s not just from the exertion of carrying him through the flat.

“Well, aren’t you going to join me?” he purrs, and then Arthur is scrambling onto the bed, barely waiting to toe his shoes off before he pulls Merlin on top of him.

“You,” he gasps, mouth crushed against Merlin’s as he runs his hands down Merlin’s back and paws at his arse, “you are the most – God, Merlin, you look fucking amazing.” He grabs Merlin’s thigh and pulls his leg over his waist, fingering the delicate lace at the top of the stocking.

“Get your clothes off,” Merlin tells him, tackling the buttons of Arthur’s shirt himself since Arthur seems disinclined to take his hands off Merlin’s legs and arse.

Having got him out of his shirt and trousers, Merlin strokes Arthur’s dick through his boxers, his own dick straining against underwear not designed to accommodate it. Arthur returns the favour, cupping his crotch, and Merlin pulls Arthur’s boxers down, then waits for him to do the same to the satin. 

“Come on then,” he whispers into Arthur’s mouth, starting to jerk Arthur’s dick slowly as Arthur continues to stroke him through the fabric.

“I don’t want to take them off you,” Arthur sighs, and Merlin grins. He takes Arthur’s hand and slides it down the back of the knickers. 

“Maybe we can get started with them still on,” he suggests, and Arthur’s dick twitches in his grasp.

A moment later Merlin is lying on his side, trying not to think about the extraordinary expense of the fabric Arthur is currently staining with lube as he tries to finger Merlin while holding the fabric to the side with the other hand. After a few minutes Arthur concedes that it’s pretty difficult to access someone’s arse if they’re still wearing underwear, and pushes Merlin onto his back to slide the knickers down his thighs. 

Freeing his hard-on from the constraints of the fabric feels so good, and Arthur’s hand around it feels even better. Merlin squirms with pleasure as Arthur slowly strokes him, kneeling on the bed between Merlin’s legs.

“At least we can keep the stockings on when you fuck me,” he says breathily as Arthur slides his fingers back into him. 

Arthur makes a sound like a swallowed moan, falls back onto the pillows and pulls Merlin on top of him. 

“I want you on top,” he tells Merlin, positioning him so he’s straddling Arthur’s hips. “I want to look at you…”

“Yeah?” Merlin asks, grinding his arse against Arthur’s dick. “D’you like seeing me dressed up for you?” 

He takes hold of Arthur’s dick and guides it inside himself as Arthur moans, “Yes…”

As Merlin sinks down on Arthur’s dick he gasps, “I was imagining you fucking me just like this when I bought these.”

“Christ,” Arthur groans, gripping both Merlin’s thighs hard enough to bruise as Merlin starts to move his hips. “You’re such a slut,” he says reverentially, and thrusts upward, knocking a groan out of Merlin.

“Yes,” Merlin gasps, letting Arthur set the pace with his thrusts. Arthur pulls him down to kiss him and, against his mouth, Merlin whispers, “Say it again.”

“What?” Arthur asks breathlessly, one hang tugging Merlin’s dick, the other sliding over the lace hold-up on a stocking. “Slut?” Merlin moans an agreement, and Arthur grins wickedly.

“Do you like dressing up like a whore, Merlin?”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes, scratching his nails down Arthur’s chest, and then, despite previous plans, there’s really nothing for it except for Arthur to flip him onto his back and fuck him as hard as he can, relishing the feel of Merlin’s silk-clad legs around his waist and Merlin’s moans getting louder.

“God, yes, like that, Arthur, deeper, fuck yes…”

“Moaning like a whore,” Arthur pants in his ear, and Merlin groans, “Yes, yes,” and comes when Arthur hisses, “Such a gorgeous slut.”  
_

The next day Merlin has a late shift, which means he wakes up with the delicious knowledge that he can stay in bed for most of the morning if he wants to. Arthur is still fast asleep when Merlin pads to the kitchen to make tea. When he brings his mug into their room and gets back into bed Arthur wakes up enough to settle his head in Merlin’s lap, then soon starts snoring again.

Merlin probably would have forgotten all about the paps if his gaze hadn’t happened to fall on one of the stockings, left dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Oh shit,” he mutters to himself, and shoves Arthur’s head off his legs to scramble around for his laptop.

“What, what?” Arthur is moaning sleepily as Merlin pulls up some of the gossip websites which are most obsessed with them.

“Oh shit,” he says again. He’s the top story on every one. The articles are illustrated with close-ups of the logo on the box and helpful links to the lingerie boutique’s website. His hand shaking slightly, Merlin scrolled through some of the articles:

 

_Merlin knows that Arthur was a bit of a playboy in the past, a source close to the couple has confided. He’s worried that he won’t be able to tie Arthur down for much longer and he feels like he needs to keep spicing things up if he wants to keep Arthur interested. He’s experimenting with every kink he can think of – I know they’re into foot fetishism…_

 

_Arthur is feeling increasingly worried about being in a relationship with a man, a palace aide told us. He knows there’s an expectation for him to have a traditional marriage with a suitable lady. Merlin is terrified that Arthur will leave him for a more eligible young woman. I guess Merlin is trying to be that woman as far as possible! He’s always played the more feminine role in their relationship…_

 

_not sure Merlin identifies entirely as male, to be honest, a close friend of the young doctor says. He’s started exploring his feminine identity and Arthur is totally supportive of that. Clothing is only part of it – he’s considering whether he wants to live as a woman. As if a prince in a gay relationship wasn’t shocking enough – imagine a prince in a relationship with a transsexual…_

 

“Arthur,” says Merlin frantically. “Arthur, you need to see this.”

Arthur blinks sleepily at the laptop screen without sitting up. “What is it?”

“Some paps, um…might have figured out I was buying…you know.”

Arthur sits bolt upright, fully awake in two seconds. That army crisis-response training is good for something, Merlin thinks wildly.

Arthur is scanning the articles already, but Merlin says, “They saw me carrying the box. I didn’t think there would be anyone outside the hospital, there hasn’t been for weeks - God, my mum still hasn’t forgiven me for letting her find out via the newspapers that I was seeing you, how the fuck am I going to tell her, ‘By the way, Mum, the press has just outed me as a cross-dresser, hope you don’t mind seeing that all over the front pages’,” Merlin continues, hearing his voice grow close to hysterical. 

Merlin’s phone rings on the bedside table, the name “Rosa” flashing up. He has no memory of putting Arthur’s publicist in his contacts. Quite possibly she stole his phone, hacked it, put her details in his phonebook and returned it to him before he noticed it was gone. He absolutely wouldn’t put it past her.

“Er…morning, Rosa,” croaks Merlin, putting her on loudspeaker.

“Good morning, Dr. Emrys,” says Rosa brightly. “I take it you’ve seen the news?”

“Er, yes?” he says.

“Very good. Perhaps Prince Arthur ought to be included in this conversation?”

“He’s here, it’s on speakerphone,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur says, “Hello, Rosa,” sounding only slightly more together than Merlin.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” she says briskly. “So, obviously the main topic of debate is why Dr. Emrys was shopping at Maddalena’s.” Merlin puts his head in his hands and thinks about crying. 

“Without wishing to invade your privacy, Dr. Emrys, I don’t suppose the garments were purchased for a friend or relation?”

“Er, no,” Merlin stammers, making an agonised face at Arthur. “They were, er, purchased for, er…personal…enjoyment.” He wants to throw up. 

“I suppose a female friend conveniently about to be married was too much to hope for,” Rosa sighs. “Well, obviously it would be beneath the dignity of the Royal Family to issue a statement explicitly commenting on what the Crown Prince does or does not enjoy sexually. So I suppose we just wait for this to die down and hope that Kate Moss falls out of a taxi or something soon,” she says cheerfully. “Well, happy reading, boys!”

“Wait, Rosa-” says Arthur, but she’s already hung up.

“I’m going to fire her,” Arthur says, for at least the fifteenth time since Merlin’s known him.

-

An hour later, Merlin has refused all offers of breakfast, drunk four cups of tea, refreshed various gossip websites almost a hundred times, diagnosed himself with the beginnings of Repetitive Strain Injury from the aforementioned refreshing, and done absolutely nothing to address this.

“Christ,” he mumbles, when Arthur comes to read the comments section over his shoulder ( _if prince arthur wants to have sex with a women why doesn’t he have a relationship with a women???_ ). “I woke up less than two hours ago and I’ve already seen people claiming that my relationship is failing, that I’m transgender, and that I’m a foot fetishist! Can’t we just put out a statement saying, ‘Hello, no, we’re not about to break up and I’m very comfortable identifying as a man who occasionally enjoys wearing ladies’ underclothes for my boyfriend’s sexual gratification, thanks very much, please leave us alone now, bye’?”

Arthur snorts. “I’ll pass the message on to Rosa.” 

“I mean, where do they get this stuff?” Merlin demands.

Arthur leans closer to the laptop screen, draping himself over Merlin’s back in the process. “Really, we’re very boring compared to what the press thinks of us. Maybe we should borrow some ideas from them.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows.

“Such as what, sire?” 

“How would you feel,” asks Arthur, “about getting your toenails painted?”


	2. Shellfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then they'd gone to Santorini and in the airport bathroom while Merlin was throwing up all the shellfish he'd ever eaten in this and past lives, Arthur had foolishly proposed...
> 
> (Spin-off of rageprufrock's iconic Drastically Redefining Protocol.)

_Then they'd gone to Santorini and in the airport bathroom while Merlin was throwing up all the shellfish he'd ever eaten in this and past lives, Arthur had foolishly proposed._

\--

_If you **have** to vomit copiously during international travel, says a voice in the back of Merlin’s head which sounds rather like his mother, then the VIP lounge at Santorini Airport is probably one of the nicest places to do it._

 

_Fuck off_ , Merlin thinks at the voice. 

 

But it can’t be denied that this particular airport toilet cubicle is a cut above any other airport toilet cubicle that Merlin has ever experienced. It’s approximately the size of Merlin’s childhood bedroom, for one thing, and it’s decorated with gilt-framed mirrors and bowls of pot-pourri. The floor is apricot-coloured marble, flawlessly clean and, considering the Greek summer heat, pleasantly cool to lie down on if, for example, one needs a rest between rounds of throwing up violently after eating dodgy shellfish.

 

The cubicle also currently has the Crown Prince of Great Britain in it, which Merlin refuses to admit is a comfort in any way at all.

 

“Please fuck off,” he moans into the tiles. “I can throw up by myself, Arthur, I don’t need any help.”

 

Arthur ignores him in favour of sitting down cross-legged on the floor and stroking his hair. 

 

There’s a knock at the door to the toilet’s ante-chamber - _this toilet has an ante-chamber,_ Merlin thinks dimly - and a Greek-accented female voice calls, “Is Dr. Emrys okay, sir? Would you like perhaps some water?”

 

“Come in,” Arthur calls, and the door opens.

 

“Arthur!” Merlin hisses. “What the fuck! I don’t want some randomer watching me -”

 

The manager of the VIP lounge is standing in the ante-chamber in her suit and high heels, looking at Merlin sympathetically through the open cubicle door, since Merlin had not found time to lock it before throwing himself over the toilet bowl.

 

“Please get us some bottled water and some anti-emetic medicine,” says Arthur calmly.

 

“Of course, sir,” she says, and hurries off.

 

Merlin drags himself up into a sitting position and attempts to glare at his boyfriend. “I don’t want her watching me throw up everything I’ve ever eaten and my kidneys!”

 

“Why?” says Arthur, genuinely baffled. “She’s here to help us.”

 

It occurs to Merlin that, nannied and valeted as Arthur has been all his life, he does not consider it strange at all for employees to be present during the most anti-social acts of human existence.

 

He’s about to make this point to Arthur, and then follow it up with, “That doesn’t mean _I_ want a complete stranger watching me vomit shellfish,” but unfortunately at that moment the shellfish decide to speak for themselves. He leans over the bowl again.

 

Naturally the manager reappears as he’s messily spitting out the last of it. She's bearing four bottles of water - two still, two fizzy - and a first aid kit.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin sees her lean down to hand these to Arthur, who’s still sitting on the floor, and bob an elegant curtsey before walking backwards out of the cubicle. Do they teach you in hospitality school how to curtsey to a Prince sitting on the floor while delivering medical supplies in a toilet, Merlin wonders.

 

“Can I offer you anything else, sir? Should I call the doctor maybe?”

 

“No,” croaks Merlin, still hanging over the bowl. “I don’t need a doctor, I just need to get this out of my system. _Please leave me alone."_

 

“Of course, sir,” she says, and vanishes.

 

“That means you too,” Merlin protests to Arthur.

 

“Not a chance,” says Arthur grimly, opening one of the water bottles and passing it to Merlin.

 

Merlin concedes defeat and flops against Arthur’s side to sip his water. He feels cold and shaky, and Arthur’s arm around him is admittedly quite nice.

 

“Sorry for ruining the holiday,” he mumbles miserably after a few seconds.

 

“You didn’t ruin the holiday,” Arthur soothes him. “We had two beautiful pre-shellfish weeks. In fact, I’d say that it was the best holiday I’ve ever been on, other than the shellfish.”

 

“Oh good,” Merlin murmurs, leaning more heavily against him. He suddenly feels very, very tired.

 

“I - I had a great time,” Arthur continues. “A perfect time, actually. I, um, I hope we’ll have a lot more holidays like that. In the future.”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees dozily. He could so easily fall asleep, right here on the floor of this lovely toilet.

 

“So, um, how long have we been together now?” Arthur asks.

 

Merlin’s stomach heaves again and suddenly he is totally, horribly awake.

 

“Er, ‘bout eighteen months?” he answers distractedly, trying to figure out if this is, like, after-shocks or if there is somehow _more_ food inside him to throw up.

 

“I think it’s a bit more than that,” says Arthur, and Merlin goes, “Right,” without actually paying him any attention. His guts are roiling.

 

“Which is, actually, the longest relationship I’ve ever had by quite a distance,” Arthur goes on.

 

“Mm-hmm,” says Merlin again, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. Maybe if he stays very, very still his insides will also stay still.

 

“So what I’m saying is, I think we’re in this for the long run,” Arthur says.

 

“I agr- oh Christ,” Merlin gulps, and lunges for the toilet again.

 

“I love you,” Arthur says as Merlin vomits violently. 

 

“Thanks,” Merlin chokes out, giving him a shaky thumbs-up as he reaches blindly for the flush button. A moment later he abandons this search because, astonishingly, it turns out he has more to eject.

 

“I never thought I could be this happy. I don’t think I could ever be this happy with anyone else,” Arthur continues over the hideous splashing noises, and _why is he feeling the need to say this right now?_

 

“That’s great,” Merlin says hoarsely, “but I’m actually throwing up right n-” exactly as Arthur blurts out, “Merlin, will you marry me?”

 

Merlin throws up some more.

 

“Are you _serious_?” he demands once he’s finished. He’s shaking, whether from the food poisoning or the other thing he doesn’t know. “This is when you ask me? Not when we were watching the sunset on a yacht? Not on top of that cliff in Ios? _When I’m throwing up in an airport?”_

 

“Oh Christ, oh fuck, I knew I’d fuck this up,” Arthur is saying wildly. “I love you?” he adds hopefully.

 

“You’re insane,” Merlin tells him, flopping back onto the cubicle floor. “I mean, obviously I’m saying yes, but what on earth made you think _this_ was the right moment -”

 

“Oh, _I’m sorry,_ ” Arthur snaps, “but do you have any idea how stressful - wait, wait, you’re saying yes?”

 

“Of course I’m saying yes,” says Merlin. “If you’d left it another week I would have just told you I found the ring in your toiletries bag.”

 

“You _found the_ -?” repeats Arthur furiously, then stops. “Wait, no, you’re saying yes! This is good!” He suddenly has the biggest, brightest grin on his face, and fuck, Merlin loves him so stupidly much.

 

“If you get me some mouthwash first, I’ll even kiss you,” says Merlin.

 

“How romantic,” Arthur huffs, but obediently goes rooting through the hand luggage that they dropped in the ante-chamber before the shellfish attack.

 

“It’s in the bag with the ring in it,” Merlin tells him with a grin.


End file.
